I didn't do it    for once
by eruthiel
Summary: WA Sep challenge entry. Artemis has been yoinked back to Ireland from Spain by Juliet, saying it whatever 'it' is is urgent. You guessed it, the LEP are back. Before that, our brave hero will have to face the perils of travel sickness and little girls.


**Alas! Alack! Evil aliens messed up my precious, precious computer . . . and BLOCKED FANFICTION!! But now I'm back, oh frabscious day, calloo, callay.**

**This is quite long for one chapter, but those were the rules. Enjoy it, review it, and don't point out inconsistencies or stupid mistakes RE loyalty to Mr Colfer's works of genius.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this, alright? Unfortunately. Believe me, if I was Eoin Colfer, I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction (no offence . . .). Don't sue me.**

**A/N: THE KISS COUPLE WAS NOT MY IDEA, ALRIGHT???? I blame Marilwen. She suggested it. And yes, Leanne is named after the real one. The DW addict. Stanley the demon is **_**not**_** named after Stanley AKA Hannah.**

Artemis sat on the plane, cursing Juliet for bringing him home early. "What could be so urgent?" he asked himself for the eightieth time.

"Relax," Butler told him, somewhat hypocritically, "we can't know until we get there."

"But I _can't_ relax! Apart from anything else, public transport always makes me ill! And what if it's . . ." The teenager looked around, but nobody could be listening. "_Them_. You know what I mean . . ."

The bodyguard nodded. "Of course I do. Please, Artemis, try to forget about it."

"FORGET ABOUT IT??" Artemis yelled, causing several people to look around. "I mean, forget about it?" he repeated in a whisper. "How the hell am I supposed to _forget about it?? _My house could be on fire, Butler, or being burgled! Oh don't look like that. We've got past more advanced security systems than mine before."

"That's not what I meant," Butler said quietly. "What about Juliet? What if she's the reason we've got to come home? No offence, but you're a materialist by anyone's standards."

"I'm sure your sister is perfectly alright," replied Artemis coldly. "Well enough to drag me away from Spain, at any rate," he muttered.

Just then the occupant of the seat between them arrived. Naturally Butler had ordered two side by side, but there were none available. (Butler hated the whole public transport thing even more than Artemis.) So they would be sitting either side of a girl. A six-year-old girl. A six-year-old girl with pigtails and a loud voice.

Her name was Leanne, as they soon found out, and she liked unicorns, fairies – Artemis and Butler exchanged glances – pink and – horror of horrors – _Disneyland_. As the plane took off, Leanne stuck her fingers in her ears then, as an act of courtesy to her fellow passengers, tried to stick them in Butler's ears. The bodyguard's yells were less angry than terrified. "Help me!" he squeaked as the girl grabbed his head with surprising strength. A young child's main weapon is cuteness, as The Great Colfer himself will tell you. You can't fight them because you're afraid of snapping them in two. God knows what damage Butler might have done if he had to attack Leanne.

"Well I don't know!" his employer replied, thinking desperately. Why had he never researched how to handle little girls? All that time wasted saving the Lower Elements from revolting goblins, psychotic pixies and megalomaniac Americans when he could have been learning how to cope with six-year-olds trying to unscrew the head of his bodyguard! "You practically raised me, surely that must have taught you _something_?"

Butler did not reply. He didn't need to point out that Artemis had never been the sort of child to like unicorns, fairies, pink or Disneyland. Alright, fairies, but - really.

"It's alright now," Leanne informed them as the plane levelled out. Butler rubbed his ears as if he wanted to spray them with disinfectant, and then looked at the child as if he wanted to spray her, too, and bury her so deep not even Mulch Diggums could find her.

Artemis was having problems of his own. Leanne had decided she wanted to look out of the window, and it just so happened that the teenager had the window seat. Forming a plan, he pushed her gently back into her own seat.

"NO, NO, NO!!" the girl screamed, grabbing Artemis' tie and yanking it so hard he almost choked. "I wanna look out the window!"

"Hey look, Leanne," Artemis told her desperately as her wails died down. "How about I tell you a story?"

"What kind of a story?" the girl demanded suspiciously. "'Coz I only wanna hear if it's got fairies!"

"Oh, it's got fairies, alright," he grinned menacingly, "all the fairies you could wish for."

"And so the good fairies locked the evil, nasty pixie away with the goblins for a million, billion years," Artemis finished and slumped into his seat. Leanne clapped her hands.

"More!" she giggled. "More, more, more!"

"No more just now, Leanne," the boy panted, exhausted after recounting the adventures with all the sound effects and actions the girl had demanded. At one point she had even tried to unhinge his jaw, until he explained how the dwarf propulsion system works.

"Please?" she wheedled. "Pretty pretty pleeeeaaaase?"

"Alright, alright. There is one more story you might like."

"Has it got the horsey-person in it?"

"Yes, Leanne, they've _all_ got the horsey-person in them."

"Goody, goody! I like the horsey-person!"

"Yes, Leanne, I'd gathered that." Artemis wondered how Foaly would react to being called 'the horsey-person'.

"Well, tell the story, then!"

"Oh yes, the story. Well, once upon a time a person called Arty and a person called Butler went on holiday to see a nasty person-eating demon."

"What was the demon called?"

"Er . . . Keith."

"That's not a demon name, silly!"

"Oh? What is?"

"Everyone knows that, silly!"

"Um, Stanley?"

"That's right! The demon's name was Stanley."

"Right. Stanley it is then. Well, Stanley the demon wanted to eat all the people . . ."

The moment the plane landed in Ireland, Butler grabbed Artemis in one hand, their luggage in the other, and hauled his employer off the seat. As the boy was literally carried off the plane, Leanne yelled after him, "Byebye, Arty! See you soon so you can tell me more stories!"

"Not bloody likely," muttered the bodyguard. "I don't believe you, Artemis! And you're supposed to be a genius!"

"She's only a kid. What would you have done?"

"I'd have gagged the brat."

"Oh yes, and taken her lunch money, too, I suppose." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but his feet were waving inches above the ground. "And put me down! This is most embarrassing!"

All the way to Fowl Manor, the teenager kept calling Juliet, but she refused to pick up. Eventually Butler confiscated the mobile from him. As soon as they reached the Manor, Artemis hurled himself at the door and started ringing the bell repeatedly. Shaking his head, Butler put the key into the lock and let them in.

Both jaws dropped (though obviously Artemis closed his again quickly to avoid looking like an idiot).

Fairies. At least a hundred of them. Having – there was no doubt about it – a party. The moment they realised that the two humans had arrived, a long, terrible silence began. Artemis broke it.

"What the hell are you doing in my HOUSE???"

Then several things happened at once. Juliet's head appeared round the kitchen door. Butler grabbed Artemis and hoisted him into the air again. And a familiar female elf was pushed to the front of the crowd.

"Holly! What's going on?" both humans demanded simultaneously.

"Er, you see, Haven's become uninhabitable," she explained.

Immediately Artemis demanded, "Plague, flood, or – us?"

"Well, actually, it's none of those. It's . . ."

"What?"

"It's rats."

"_Rats? _Surely the Awesome Might of the Great Foaly is more than enough for a few _rats_?"

"Of course it is!" snapped a voice from Holly's intercom. "These things take time, you know!"

Artemis raised his eyebrows. "How much time? How long will I be entertaining every fairy in Haven?"

"Oh, not all of them," Holly assured him. "Only the LEP. And . . . one other . . ."

Silence reigned once more. Horrified, Artemis turned his head slowly until his eyes met Juliet's. She nodded in answer to his unspoken question. Slowly, Butler began to wade through the mass of silent, tiny intruders towards the kitchen.

"I'm so sorry," his sister whispered to Artemis. "I tried to stop him, I really did. But . . ." she tailed off and pointed.

I won't describe the state of the kitchen. Suffice to say that in the middle of it all, a certain dwarf turned around and cried through a mouthful of potatoes, "Ar'emi'! 'Or ba'!" which roughly translates as: 'don't look at me. The cat did it.'

As soon as Mulch had eaten his fill, the party _really_ began. As the three humans struggled to keep the fairies under control, a thought suddenly occurred to Artemis (now that's something you don't see every day). "Juliet," he asked, "how did they get in? You didn't invite them, did you?"

"Er . . . er . . ."

"_Tell _me!"

"A small group of them arrived. One asked if he and the others could come in, so I said yes -" Artemis slapped his forehead " – and then . . . then this lot unshielded!"

"You stupid girl!"

"I know, I'm sorry!" She seemed close to tears. This was very unlike Juliet and Artemis immediately felt mean. "I think he had me under the mesmer! And I've tried telling them to go away, but they've all got these sunglasses on . . . they won't make eye contact, so I can't give them a direct order!"

He sighed. "They'll be gone soon. Anyway, they owe us now. It always pays to have fairies in your debt."

Meanwhile, Holly, Mulch, Trouble, Grub, Vinyaya and Foaly were playing an extremely silly game of Truth or Dare.

"I dare Holly," giggled Grub, swaying on his little feet, "I – hic – dare Holly to – hic – kiss Mulch!" He collapsed in hysterics. Holly yelped.

"No way!"

Trouble wiggled his eyebrows at her. "It's him or me!"

She pulled a face. "Alright, here goes." Then she turned towards Mulch. Trouble nearly choked but Foaly pulled out a camera, sniggering.

'CLICK!'

The laughter was unbelievable. "Classic!" roared Trouble, thumping his little brother on the back. Grub was giggling too much even to notice, let alone lodge an official complaint, as he would normally love to.

"Alright," Holly scowled as the dwarf spat repeatedly on the carpet, "to get you back for that, Grub, I dare you to . . ."

Much later, they were running short of ideas. "I dare you to . . . put the most dangerous thing you can find into Artemis' schoolbag!" someone suggested.

There was a silence as they considered this. Finally Holly scoffed, "That's way too easy."

"Using only your mouth!" cried Foaly.

"Fine then, you're on. Find me something dangerous!"

They looked high and low for anything that would qualify, and soon came up with an ancient neutrino (at least two years old, by the centaur's reckoning), some broken glass (which, for obvious reasons, was immediately disqualified from the put-it-in-your-mouth category), a long, rusty nail, and, for some reason, a battle axe. Eventually they settled on the axe and Holly gripped it with her mouth by the handle while the others cheered, genuinely too light-headed to realise the idiocy of what they were doing – even _Foaly_ told his inner Voice of Reason to sod off. At last the axe went into the bag, the owner of which was asleep on the sofa, completely oblivious. Naturally nobody noticed that the elf had left a little smudge of the lipstick she'd stolen off Juliet for a laugh on the weapon. Not that it really mattered anyway . . .

"Oh my God." Artemis staggered to his feet, careful not to tread on any fairies. Well, not too many, anyway. "Look at this place! Butler? Anyone? Hello?" Then he checked his watch and groaned. He'd slept in. "BUTLER!!"

"Yes?" The bodyguard was at his side amazingly quickly.

"I need to get out of here! I'm going to school."

"Call the press. Come on, I'll drop you off."

Artemis hardly noticed how heavy his schoolbag had suddenly become. He put it down to his own exhaustion and stress, and never thought to check – astonishingly uncharacteristic stupidity on his part. Anyway, the boy genius was too preoccupied with worrying about how they could get the fairies and their mess out of the way before his parents returned from Belgium. It seemed much too early in the morning, and he only just remembered to throw together a note from his mother explaining his three-week absence.

While the other boys mucked about on the field opposite the school, Artemis trudged into his form room, not expecting to find a broken window. He did, though. He also found (slightly more worrying) a dead teacher.

At once, questions raced through Artemis' mind:

What was he doing in here?

How did he die?

What the hell am I standing around for?

On closer inspection, he discovered that the teacher (Mr Vane, head of the geography department – or rather, ex-head) had shoulder and skull injuries. Swearing, Artemis straightened up to get out of there, but too late. Boys were beginning to arrive.

Within a moment, all his escape routes were blocked. People were flooding in. They stopped when they saw the corpse – well, you would, wouldn't you? "Is he . . ?" someone asked.

"Yes."

They panicked and began to yell. Artemis rolled his eyes, hoping they would have the sense to get out of there as quickly as possible, but no such luck. However, one boy did think to phone the police, and soon there were sirens outside.

"Alright, alright, everyone out of here," ordered an officer with a face like a troll's.

"Please, Mr Policeman," piped one boy, eager to help, "Artemis found it! He was here when we all came in!"

Artemis could have wrung the child's neck. Clenching his fists, he walked slowly back over to the troll-faced officer, making a mental note to always think before standing around thinking . . . no, wait . . . did that make sense?

As a young policewoman rounded up the other students and led them out of the classroom, Trollface unzipped Artemis' bag and nearly yelled when he saw what was in it.

"What?" the teenager demanded. "Haven't you ever seen biology homework before? I – oh hell."

It was a battle axe. Now I wonder how that got there. After making a hurried call on his walkie-talkie and clipping a pair of handcuffs onto Artemis, Trollface carefully drew out the axe and inspected it. "Oh, what's this?" He pointed to something. A smudge.

"How should I know?" Artemis shrugged. "It's not even my axe." But he did recognise it. It was the lipstick Juliet sometimes wore for special occasions. He had sometimes teased her about it when he was younger, saying that no real bodyguard would wear makeup, until she had threatened to shove it down his throat. Then he had shut up pretty quickly. Last night, however, Holly had put some of this on for a laugh. Now – now, somehow, it had become evidence. Evidence gets examined. Examination leads to suspects. But where would it lead if the suspect wasn't human?

"I'll tell you what that is," said Trollface, interrupting his thoughts, "it's lipstick. We can test that, you know. Find out who was wearing it."

"I know."

"Good. Then I'm sure you know you have the right to remain silent and stand over there where I can see you. Hint hint."

Artemis took the hint. His mind was whirling. They wouldn't find fairy DNA, he would make sure of that. But _how?_ And what if the police wanted to investigate his home? "I demand to see my lawyers!"

"You were found in a room with a dead body and a lethal weapon" the policeman pointed out. I don't think it makes a scrap of difference whether you have the best lawyers in the world or choose to defend yourself."

"Ah, but I _have _the best lawyers in the world."

Leaving the school with Trollface, Artemis attracted a lot of stares (though not as many as Trollface, who was photographed several times by youngsters with mobile phones who believed they had seen some sort of goblin). Artemis had to think fast. The policeman had taken a sample of the lipstick and was carrying it along in a small glass tube. A crazy idea formed in the teenager's head.

"Hey, you," he hissed at the boy nearest to him as he walked past. Excited, the child began to follow Artemis and Trollface along, staying just close enough to hear.

"Look," Artemis whispered, "do you see that glass thing he's holding?" Nods. "You have to break it."

"Why?" The boy's eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Um . . . because I'll pay you?"

"Prove it!"

"Look, just _do _it, alright??"

"Not unless you tell me why."

"Because . . ." _Think, Artemis, and think like a child! _"Because I dare you!" he blurted out.

The boy's face lit up in understanding. He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Trollface looked around. "Oi! Clear off, you!" the policeman snarled. Terrified, the boy scuttled to the other side of the playground at amazing speed.

Artemis' heart sank. If only he could have been a bit quicker. There would have been no evidence pointing to Holly at all – after taking the sample, Trollface had idiotically stopped paying attention to the battle axe, which Artemis had completely covered in smudge marks, obliterating any fingerprints that might have remained. The lipstick sample was the only way Holly – make that any fairy – could be identified. Artemis hoped Trollface got in trouble for that.

No hope. The two of them were just leaving the grounds when something round and very muddy shot past Artemis' ear: a football! There was a sound of breaking glass. He span around and there, waving excitedly, was the boy he had spoken to. Then the child mimed kicking a ball and Artemis, though signalling to cut it out, could hardly conceal his own delight as he helped Trollface to his feet and threw the boy his ball back.

"Here!" the man cried, seeing the shattered tube. "He destroyed evidence!"

"It was an accident. He's only a child."

"Child or not, he's given me a right bloody problem."

But Trollface's problems were only just beginning. Another police car had arrived and out of it stepped what looked like a gorilla in a uniform. Artemis assumed that this was Marvin Onkey, the infamous chief who wrestled, boxed and (according to rumour) collected stamps in his spare time. Onkey made Butler look slightly larger than average, and that's saying something.

The young police woman Artemis had seen earlier arrived just in time to hear Trollface's explanation, which was extremely feeble. She shook her head. "You moron. Come on, get in the car."

Artemis wouldn't have been surprised if the man had said "Yes Mum," but obviously he didn't. The four of them crammed into the car and left, just as more arrived to investigate further.

"Those lawyers of yours had better be good, Kid," grunted Trollface.

"I thought it didn't matter," Artemis reminded him.

"Yeah," cut in the police woman, "thanks to you, he'll probably get off scot free! Eh, Kid?"

"I certainly hope so."

They spent the rest of the journey quietly, Artemis mentally rejoicing and Trollface moving his lips in silent prayer, presumably that Chief Onkey would overlook his carelessness.

_No evidence. _Those words kept exploding in the teenager's head, but he forced himself to think about the rather more important matter of how the hell he was going to get himself out of this one.

As it turned out, he didn't need to. Within hours of arriving at the police station, Artemis received the news that the cause of Mr. Vane's death hadn't been his wounds at all.

It was cheese poisoning.

"_Cheese poisoning??_" demanded Artemis, half wondering if this was some sort of joke. I bet you did too. I know I did.

"That's right, Kid," said the police woman (whose name, it had been revealed, was Malorie) shrugged, tearing open a chocolate bar wrapper and tossing Artemis a chunk. By some miracle he caught it. She continued, "All that cheese your school just bought was poison. Some kind of leak at the factory, something like that. And a bunch of other schools, too. Luckily, only your Mr. Vane had enough to kill him. Some kids got tummy ache, though. Poor ickle them."

"But what about the injuries?" puzzled Artemis. "I saw them. He was bleeding."

"Ah." Malorie grinned, crunching her chocolate. (Artemis hadn't touched his.) "You guess, go on. You'll never guess."

The teenage genius thought hard. What could he remember about the classroom? Almost everything: the empty chairs, the blood-soaked carpet, the broken window . . .

"He was walking past outside," declared the police woman, assuming that he had given up, "when he died and fell through the window! And he cut himself on the glass!" There was an air of triumph in her voice.

"I was just about to saw that," scowled Artemis. He knew she wouldn't believe him.

"Sure you were, Kid. Oh, and watch out for the flying artichokes, too," she added. "They're out to get you." When she had finished laughing, Malorie ordered, "Eat that chocolate! It's good for you!"

Reluctantly, he popped the square into his mouth and immediately felt a series of weird sensations. Most writers ignore taste for a lot of them time, me included. So here goes.

Happiness and pleasure, at having such a great thing, all to himself, right this second. At the taste, which smothered his tongue and all his senses, was weirdly familiar and yet exotic and new. At the here and now, not remembering or anticipating, but just enjoying the moment. That was all that mattered.

A desire to keep it surged through him. The need to savour this while it lasted, to enjoy to the very best of his abilities the taste that may betray him at any moment and slip away. It was comforting and reassuring: at least one part of my brain is still working. At least some things really never change. At least one thing can make me feel good all over, without trying to rip my head off.

Then it faded. The taste lingered in his mouth, but he felt annoyed and empty, even though some of that wonderful, thick, overwhelming feeling still clung to his taste buds. Artemis didn't often eat chocolate, but whenever he did he experienced it anew.

There you go – a little taste of chocolate just for you. I'm afraid I got a little poetic, but I've already wasted enough time on irrelevant detail, so on with the story. Remember this, though: chocolate _is_ good for you. Your mental health, anyway. Remus really knows what he's on about.

"So I'm in the clear, then?" Artemis asked hopefully.

"Ah, Kid, almost. It's dead lucky for you that moron lost the lipstick. As it is, those lawyers you keep warning me about only have to come up with a plausible story and a little evidence and you're outa here." Malorie made little walking movements with her fingers to illustrate the point.

_Don't worry, _thought Artemis, _they will._

They did. Within one week, the teenager was free to go. Even he was amazed at how smoothly the whole thing went; if they'd only checked out the Manor . . . it didn't bear thinking about. Before you could say 'The Mighty Jagraffess of the Holy Hadrojassic Maxamodenfoe' with a mouthful of mushy peas, he was back with the fairies. Lucky him.

"Stupid . . . Haven . . . how did . . . the rats . . . get in . . . anyway?" Artemis muttered to himself between gasping for breath (he'd just run up the stairs to stop an idiotic elf trying to prove to a friend that sprites weren't the only ones who could fly; the last thing he needed was fairy jam on his carpet). "If the ordinary ones can cope, surely the police can? Shouldn't they be protecting the People? And why don't they go someplace else – someplace _underground? _This is ridiculous. I can't even make eye contact with any of them!" He grabbed a tiny pixie running past and shook it. It emitted a high-pitched 'squeak' that would have broken any heart softer than Artemis'. He ripped off its sunglasses and turned its head to face his own. The pixie shut its eyes tight. The human demanded, "Can you hear me?" Nods. "Open your eyes! _Now_!" Shakes. "Or I'll drop you off the banister! Splat! Hear me?"

It whimpered. This was such a pitiful noise that even Artemis found himself wanting to cuddle the fairy and give it a bowl of milk. Pulling himself together, he put the pixie down, realising it was useless. He would have to pick on one of the annoying, non-cute ones like Foaly. Where's Beetroot when you need him?

Artemis off to the study where the centaur had set up camp, kicking a gnome on his way, as the tiny pixie scuttled off. "Stupid cute fairies . . . don't know why I don't just blast them all to oblivion." He came to a halt when he reached the door. It had been totally upgraded – apparently Foaly had some sort of grudge against wood. "Foaly?" the human called, through the new door, which seemed to belong in a science fiction movie. "Open up. It's your host."

There was a sigh from within and the door swung slowly inward. If it knew how doors are supposed to behave, it would have creaked, and it certainly wouldn't have had a miserable-looking centaur drinking from a carton of carrot juice waiting on the other side wearing a tinfoil hat and dark sunglasses. That rather spoiled the atmosphere.

"Oh, Artemis!" Foaly cried, dragging the teenager inside and slamming the door shut. "This place is a security nightmare!"

"Well _excuse me . . ."_

"Very good for a Mud Man," he was assured, "but all the same, you know how easily I mess with this stuff!" Foaly pointed to a screen showing live CCTV footage, and then giggled, brightening up a bit. "Hey, watch this!"

Artemis watched as the centaur pressed a few keys, and then –

**BOOM**

His house exploded. Or so it seemed to on the screen. "Very amusing." He rolled his eyes.

"Oh no? Then watch this. Foaly proceeded to hold Fowl manor siege, overrun it with giant snakes, set fire to it, crush it with a large cartoon foot, fly it away on a tornado and conjure a huge sparkling skull over the roof (all on screen, of course).

Artemis was not impressed. "The Amazing, Unappreciated Foaly has once again proved that he is more than a match for human technology, when he should be spending his time working out how to get these fairies out of here! I spent all that time worrying because of your officer and her stupid dare game!"

"Oh, come on . . ."

"Don't talk like that to me! If my parents return and the LEP aren't out of my house I will have you melted down and turned into glue. The rest can go to labs or zoos and then it's nuclear-warfare-time for the Lower Elements." He wasn't serious, of course, and the centaur knew it.

"Look," Foaly sighed, "I'm sorry, but there really are a hell of a lot of rats. The citizens have all been evacuated. But I have been working on a solution . . . there it is . . ."

Artemis was handed a grubby slip of paper with some gnomish symbols scribbled on it.

"It says- "

"I know what it says," he sighed. "'Lots of traps.' Honestly, Foaly, and they call you a genius! Or at least, you do. Is this the best you can come up with? Where were you planning to get the traps, anyway? Not to mention the bait . . . the bait . . . ooh . . ." The teenager seized the phone and punched in a number. (One of the advantages of being super-intelligent: you never need a phone book.) "Hello, yes. Never mind, this is important. Yes I am. Look, what have you done with that cheese you had to recall? Really? Brilliant. Well don't, I've found you a buyer . . ."

It's marvellous how these things work out, isn't it? Maybe it was all planned by some kind of god – or a kid with a biro shaped like a crocodile. Who can say?

Well, anywho, the fairies could go home, Fowl Manor was officially a humans-only zone once more, and the cheese company made a lot of money, so everyone was happy. Except, of course, Mr Vane, who was dead, and Trollface, who learnt the hard way what not to do in a murder situation.

"Arty? Hello! We're home!" Angeline hung up her coat. Artemis Senior put an arm round her shoulders and smiled as their son came running down the stairs. "Did you have a nice time in Spain?"

"Yes, Mother."

She sighed. "You don't have to call me that, you know. We're not strangers." _Even if it feels that way sometimes, _she added in her head.

"But Moth- oh . . . alright, Mum." What a funny word. It tasted strange in his mouth, but his parents grinned.

"That's my boy," nodded Artemis Senior, holding out a hand. "Now come and greet us properly, right? And then help Angeline get the twins to bed.

Artemis smiled to himself as he hugged his parents in turn, feeling how very alive –and human - they were, before picking up one of the carrycots at his mother's feet and making his way upstairs, followed by Angline carrying the other baby.

Once the twins were asleep, their mother kissed each goodnight before turning to her son and kissing him on the forehead. When she left the room, Artemis went over to the first cot and whispered, "Goodnight, Eleanor," brushing her black hair off her face. Smiling, the boy approached the second cot and told his other sister, "Someday you'll be as smart as me. I'll have a job hiding my secrets with you around, Millie!" Then he left for his study, where he had been spending less and less time since being appointed head babysitter.

Artemis sifted through the junk that had accumulated on his desk: the bit of paper saying 'lots of traps', printouts of Foaly's favourite methods of destructing the house, endless numbers of carrot juice cartons and, right at the bottom, a single photograph. The teenager held it up to the light, then collapsed in hysterics.

_Wait till Holly and Mulch see this!_


End file.
